Monday, February 22, 2010

TFE'S Pocket poem prompt

This week, after lots of false starts, I decided to have a bit of fun with TFE's Pocket poetry prompt (www.totalfeckineejit.blogspot.com)
and not take it too seriously.


The thief of self-belief

Yesterday there was a poem
in my pocket. By lunchtime
it was gone. Instead all I found
when I reached in my hand
was a tiny, wizened man.

He stood on my palm,
chest pushed out,
eyes darting greedily round.
‘I am the Thief of Self belief,’
he said. Seconds later he’d gone.

I hunted him out of the bedroom
where he’d built an effigy
from my red suede shoes
and my green silk dress,
with a yellow balloon for a head.


‘I am the Thief of Self-Belief’
he cried, sweeping across my desk,
smashing my cursor key,
shredding my poems like confetti
all down the stairs.

I tracked him down in the garden
where he’d started
to dig up my bulbs.
‘I’m the the thief of Self Belief’
he yelled, laying waste to a bed.

So I fled back inside and as fast
as I could gathered up the words,
words that littered the stairs,
the floors - I even found
some in my hair.

Then I stuck them all
back together and crept outside with the page. But I am the thief
of self belief he hissed
as I dropped the poem on his head.

18 comments:

  1. Excellent! I loved him with his swelled belly and yellow balloon-head.
    I know I have one of those fellows lurking about in my house. Time for a vacuum, I think!

    Kat

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  2. Scary little homunculus!
    Made me smile, and recognise. I'm with Kat, time for a clean-up.
    Good one.

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  3. Love that, especially finding words in your hair. The little man reminds me of my dog somehow.

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  4. Thanks Kat - it's shocking what you find in your pocket, isn't it? I'd hate to think what's lurking under my stairs . .

    Titus, glad I made you smile :)

    Hi Niamh, thanks very much. I'd be interested to see what your dog looks like - I got sort of fond of this little man, although he still had to be flattened in the end - for the sake of the pome, don't you know

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  5. You showed that little fecker!(It looked like Jimmy Saville)Photos and a poem-you're spoiling us!
    Ps I think we all have one of them gremlins around the place.

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  6. Oh, I love this! It is fun but it's meaty too.
    x

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  7. i think your little thief has cousins - one's at my place even now. I think the Yellow Pages might teach him a lesson. What a great poem!

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  8. Oh my god tfe, you're right - what the hell was Jimmy Saville doing in my pocket?

    Thanks a million Rachel - glad you see the meat in it.

    Argent, do you really have one too? Maybe they're breeding? I think I might just go and check my other pockets . .

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  9. This is fun and funny but also serious. This gremlin's name says it all. I'm glad you smashed him, and I hope it "takes."

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  10. Good one. What a delightfully nasty little urchin. A poem? Try dropping a telephone directory on it next time. :)

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  11. absolutely fabulous, take that nagging little voice in your head and make him into something you could put on a little chain. the visual aids really made it work even better.
    thanks for sharing
    crazy field mouse

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  12. Karen - thanks. I think it's worked but if he does turn up again I might just go with the phone book this time.

    Thanks Dominic - I'm going to take your advice and keep the yellow pages to hand at all times.

    Crazyfieldmouse, thanks for visiting. You explained the poem better than I could've explained it myself.

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  13. he he!!.. this was gleefully mad! love it! cheers!

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  14. Watercats - thanks for visiting. Glad you got a laugh out of it (although finding something like that in your pocket isn't usually a laughing a matter;)

    NanU - Thank you! And thanks so much for dropping by.

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  15. Fantabulous & delightful! You really have that special "something" that makes you stand out from the rest, don't let that little shite steal it from you!

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  16. Awww - Thanks Moira. You're very kind. And when are you going to hop back on board the bus? There's still time, you know . . . :)

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  17. 'There is nothing, no, no, never nothing,
    Like the clashed edges of two words that kill.'

    - Le monocle de Mon Oncle, Wallace Stevens

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